Peg, Florence and John

Florence was a guest today at our poetry circle. 

Once It Stops

Once it stops snowing 
I breathe the color of nothing; 
a porous sponge wipes the spilled skymilk.
In drifts of small 
and shrouds of soft, 
doubting the existence of guardrails,
I intuit my way home 
to a dwelling, white embossed on white, 
that hangs by a thread of wood smoke.

Florence Fogelin